


Tonight's Mood is Blue

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s03e22 Quagmire, F/M, cuddle fic, here be fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 22:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14903780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Scully's had a crappy day and all she needs is some comfort.





	Tonight's Mood is Blue

The room is quiet when Mulder emerges from the bathroom rubbing his damp hair with a towel. There’s no yapping dog with questionable intentions swirling between his legs. Not anymore. The TV isn’t on and Scully sits in the armchair like a still painting, sadness emanating off her. Mulder doesn’t know what to say. He stands there, towel in hand, and watches her. He’s sorry about Queequeg, but he’s already told her so. He’s sorry about so many things and this hotel room is not the place to say it; it’s not the time either.

“Hey.” He doesn’t move towards her. This is his room and the fact that she’s still here after his shower means something. Scully isn’t always forthcoming with her emotions or even her thoughts when they’re personal. Every once in a while she does this; storms into his room, hugs him for no reason or stays in his hotel room longer than might be deemed appropriate. Scully glances up at him, her eyes empty and exhausted.

“We should get some sleep.” He doesn’t mean anything by it; there’s no agenda behind his words. They do need to sleep. There’s a report to be written, a journey back home. He can feel the soreness spread through his muscles already; the adrenaline that rushed through his body after his fall, after shooting the alligator long gone. Scully doesn’t move, but her eyes stay on him. It’s up to him to read her face and to hear the words she doesn’t say.

“Do you want to- is there anything I…”

“I don’t want to… I don’t really feel like being alone just yet.” He should have expected it and maybe a part of him did. This is not the first it happens, but she never asks. Never says I want to stay with you, Mulder. All the previous times have been because of him. He was injured or sick; any flimsy excuse to stay together would do. But tonight is about her. Mulder finds himself nodding and that’s good enough for her, it seems. Without another word, she walks over to the bed and lies down. Her back is to him and Mulder watches her for a moment, a strange emotion washing over him that he refuses to acknowledge or analyze. The bed dips as he lies down next to her. They’re not touching; they’re not even facing each other. Mulder turns off the light and realizes the sun is about to come up. They’ve got a few hours at best. He folds his hands on his stomach, listens to Scully’s breathing. She’s still awake.

“I don’t want to talk, Mulder,” she says, her voice muffled by her pillow.

“I didn’t ask you to.” The truth is he doesn’t want to talk either. His ears are ringing with the memory of the gun shots. An alligator. Maybe Scully is right; this is his future. Running after an elusive truth, hurting everyone in his way, losing it all. She rolls over in a quick movement and before he can ask if she’s all right, if she needs anything, she cuddles against him. Her arm over his chest, her head against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His breath catches; he barely dares to take another one in case it will make her turn away.

“We won’t talk about this,” she mumbles against his t-shirt and he swallows hard. “Not tonight and not tomorrow.” He nods, doubts she can see it. Mulder puts his hand over hers on his stomach to let her know it’s all right. To let her know he accepts her terms. She sighs against him, her breath warm and welcome. Mulder doesn’t think he can sleep like this. He is not even sure he wants to. He leans his head against Scully’s and her hair tickles his chin. If only she’d allow herself, both of them, to feel this more often. If she let him, he’d hold her every other night. Or every night, no exceptions. For now it’s this: holding each other when they’re sad, when the need for comfort outweighs everything else. He lets his eyes close.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t Big Blue, Mulder. Maybe next time, huh?” He could be dreaming her words; they’re soft like a breeze in summer, but he squeezes her hand just the same, just in case.

“I’m sorry about Queequeg, Scully. I really am.” He wants to tell her that he’ll make sure this was the last time. That she won’t lose anyone else she loves because of him, of her following him in search of whatever he’s trying to catch. But the words won’t come. They’re like lead on his tongue and the moment stretches on before it eventually passes. Scully moves closer against him, holds tighter and grabs his t-shirt in her hands. One of her legs swings over his. She’s not going to let go.

“We’re not going to talk about this,” she repeats again as she leaves a small kiss against his t-shirt clad shoulder. But she misses, or does it deliberately, and her lips touch his skin. His breath catches again. They won’t talk about this. They never do. But he’ll hold her until the morning comes. As long as she lets him.


End file.
